


Seven Days

by Corvid_Knight



Series: Demonstuck [36]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Demonstuck, Gen, Mention of experimentation, Oh look another addition to this insane family, and i love them, davepeta is a literal murder machine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-30
Updated: 2018-11-30
Packaged: 2019-09-02 16:12:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16790332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corvid_Knight/pseuds/Corvid_Knight
Summary: Davesprite disappears, and not even Jake's magic, Hal's algorithms, or Grey's connections can find him.





	Seven Days

_Day 1: Hal._

You're capable of saving and replaying anything that happens in your direct line of sight, if you have about three-tenths of a second to start the recording. Unfortunately, you don't have that warning this time, so you're really not sure what happens first. Is it your and Dirk's phones going off with Seb and Jr's ringtones at exactly the same time? Is it Jake gasping and then faceplanting directly into his cereal? Is it Dave staggering and grabbing at you for support?

Frankly, you have no idea. That last one immediately takes most of your attention, though; if you don't grab for him, Dave will end up on the fucking floor. He very nearly does anyway; you somehow expect him to support himself at least a little. _Usually,_ he manages that much even when he's hit by someone else's emotions. 

The fact that you have to hook an arm around his shoulders and guide him to the floor rather than just let him lean on you for a minute suggests that this is bad. 

Possibly very bad. 

"Dave?" He's not capable of anything other than shaking his head right now, apparently. "Dirk, you should get your boyfriend—"

When you look up, Dirk isn't moving either, just staring at his phone with an expression that even you can't read. "Dirk? Dirk." Still no reaction, but it's not time to panic yet. You stand up, pull Jake's face out of his breakfast before he can drown, and grab your own phone. 

Do not fucking panic. There's no reason to panic. 

You keep telling yourself that even as you read the first of the dozen (and counting) texts that Seb's sent you. 

hal he's gone  
davesprite went to get a soda and he's gone   
jr tried to use the magic rose taught them to find him and they can't, nothing happened    
he's just gone and jr's scared and i'm scared and we can't find him hal

He's not giving you any more info than that, and even though you are, actually, panicking now, you have more sense than to ask him. You can still put part of yourself on autopilot, type out some kind of promise that you're horribly afraid you can't keep to Seb as you look down at Dave. 

"...god, please tell me Davesprite's okay." 

Even before he answers you know it's not going to be what you want to hear. Hell, even before he _reacts_ , you know.

Still, you wait until the concentration on Dave's face dissolves into helpless confusion, until he shakes his head, before you answer Seb's last text with the promise I'll be right there and shove your phone in your pocket. "Dirk? _Dirk._ " 

You seriously wonder if you're going to have to smack him to get his attention. But no, he looks up after a second, that blank expression still firmly in place. "Jr says—" 

"Davesprite's gone." You hate hearing those words come out of your mouth. It's like speaking something awful into existence. "I know. Seb told me...get Jake up. If you don't have him awake and scrying before I get back with Jr and Seb, I swear to fuck I'll do it for you." 

You feel like Dirk's ready to give you an angry answer to that thinly veiled threat, but you don't give him time. His keys are on the counter; you swipe them before he can stop you, and then you're out the fucking door. You

With any luck, this'll all resolve itself by the time you make it to the mall to pick the kids up. With any luck, you'll come home with all three of them.

* * *

You come home with two kids, both terrified and in tears. Not that you can blame them—only considerable practice and genetic predisposition to stoicism is keeping you at any level of calmness. 

Seb was right. You spent the entire drive over convincing yourself that no, of course Davesprite wasn't really missing, you'd get there and use one of the small divinatory spells you're capable of and it'd point you right to wherever the cockatrice managed to end up. Convincing yourself that this was some kind of dumbass misunderstanding. That it would be _fine._

None of that happened. And when you make it back to the safehouse, you find that Dirk's done exactly what you told him to do, Jake's spread maps and compasses and whatever the fuck across the table, he's obviously doing his fucking best, but Dirk's pacing on the other side of the room and you know. You know it's not enough. 

Everything is emphatically not fine, and now is when you give up on any attempt to not panic.

* * *

_Day 2: D._

Grey ain't here; as soon as the fact that somebody had to have taken Davesprite became apparent, you told him to take the younger kids and get the hell out. Your thought process in that decision was vague, as it usually is, but the logic had to have been that he knows how to make himself scarce better than anyone else you know; he's gotta be capable of making sure that nothing finds and takes Seb or Jr. 

(You hate that your first thought was that you needed to make sure you didn't take any more losses. Like, you came out the fucking gate _accepting_ that you're not gonna get the one you did lose back.) 

Those two are safe. Trizza's safe; you may not like the Piexes family all that much, but you'll bet on the head bitch in a fight against literally anything, and even if Trizza fuckin' hates her she's still gonna treat the kid as family. Gale...well, they wouldn't go with Grey, but they promised to get somewhere where they weren't gonna get picked up, and they've been checking in every twelve hours. 

You...think Gale's trying to locate Davesprite, too. They're not having any more luck than Jake or Hal, though. 

Or Dave. 

You asked Dave if he could find the cockatrice. Like, you know he's got a mental link to everyone he's close to; he's used it to locate you or Hal or Dirk before, when he needed company and Karkat wasn't here, and yeah that was short-range shit but _still_ , it was a fucking idea, there was a fucking chance. 

You asked him and halfway through the sentence you saw the fucking devastated look on his face and knew that he'd been trying, but your own stupid hope made you finish the goddamn sentence. When you stopped talking, Dave shook his head and crossed his arms and seemed to fucking _shrink_ as he told you that he couldn't find Davesprite. That he couldn't even feel Davesprite. 

Dave kept it together right up until the sentence _it feels like he's dead._ Maybe he woulda managed to keep it together even longer, but that fucking sentence hit the button that made _you_ break down, and like he always has Dave mirrors the people around him. 

You cried, he cried, Karkat popped in from nowhere and growled at you for starting this shit. He didn't mean to, you saw that as soon as he realized that he'd just bared demon-sharp teeth at you, but you fucking deserved it anyway. 

You apologized.

Then you crammed all your fear and worry down into that lil' mental box that Striders are apparently born with, and you started making phone calls to see if anyone else had any kind of info on your missing kid.

* * *

_Day 3: Dave._

You manage to keep your mind as open as you can for almost three days, before it finally breaks you. Three days of that godawful absence where there should be a piece of your heart, three fucking days of feeling everyone else's desperation and hope and fucking _fear_ —they're all so fucking scared. Like, the threat of death doesn't scare your family as bad as the possibility of losing one of their own, it's the worst fucking thing possible and you know it, and you're getting your own fear of what could be happening to Davesprite along with D's and Dirk's and Hal's and Karkat's and—

Yeah. Two days and half a third, and you can't fucking take any more. Like, one second you're leaning over Hal's shoulder as he runs yet another webscan for any mention of anything that could lead to news of Davesprite, and the next you're curled up on the floor, shaking and biting down on your lip until you taste blood just so you'll be _quiet_ , retreating behind as many mental barriers as you can. 

"Dave? Shit!" 

You think Hal knocks his chair over in his haste, but somehow it still feels like a goddamn eternity before he falls to his knees beside you, pulls you up and wraps his arms around you. Being this close, it makes it almost impossible to shut his emotions out completely; you know he's worried about you, he wants to make sure you're okay, but under and above and around that there's a _need_ to check the laptop, see if the results came back yet. 

It's fucking selfish, but you lean into him for a second. Get that lil' taste of comfort, of warmth, of the implied promise that it's gonna be okay. 

Then you force yourself to sit up, pull away from him, and wipe the blood off your mouth. "It's fine, Hal. 'm okay, just—can't keep trying to find him with the empath shit. I stop that, I'll be okay." 

Surprisingly, the shikigami sits back on his heels rather than getting to his feet, studying you for a second. "You're sure? I can call Karkat back—" 

"Don't." _Please do_ , you think even as you say it, but that's more selfish than you could ever be. "You know he's checking places we can't go. Need him to do that." 

"Kurloz could—" 

"It's faster if they both look for him." When Hal still doesn't move you shove at him, use that lil' impetus to push yourself back. The look on his face _hurts_ ; you're too much of a fucking coward to open your mind and confirm that he's taking this as you blaming him. "Hal, I'm fine, just—I know you wanna check your shit—" 

"Okay. Okay, calm down, I'm going." He doesn't, not for another minute. Then he shakes his head, gets to his feet, leans down to pat your shoulder. "Go sleep, okay? Burnout isn't quite going to—" 

"Find him. Yeah, I know." You let Hal pull you to your feet, and when he turns back to his laptop you head out of the room. 

Not to your room, though. There's no fucking way you're sleeping. 

Dirk'll have something you can help him out with.

* * *

_Day 4: Dirk._

You're in the kitchen because you haven't eaten for long enough that you're starting to have moments where you black out for as long as five seconds at a time, not because of any desire to eat. This shit's nothing but maintenance, the knowledge that your body might as well be a fuckin' machine with a human intelligence piloting it. 

That, and Jake needs to eat too. John's been bouncing between everyone in the safehouse, trying to make sure that all of you eat and at least pretend to sleep, but he passed out a couple hours ago and still hasn't woken up (not that you blame him) so you know that no one's been keeping an eye on Jake.

The fact that you wish someone other than you were doing that is awfuk. That's your job, he's your boyfriend, you have to make sure that he doesn't just keep expending magic until he's got nothing left to give...

At the table, Jake drops his pendulum (not like he's got a hit; that makes a sound that's almost like a chime and this is nothing but a muffled thump) and covers his face with both hands, bursting into half-muffled sobs. 

"Jake—" You almost drop the bowl in your hands, reconsider, and carefully set it on the counter instead. (Your hands are shaking. God, you hope that's from low blood sugar levels and not from fatigue. You can't be the one to collapse now.) "Jake, it's okay, don't—" 

"How the bloody _hell_ is this okay?" The demand comes from behind his hands; he doesn't lower them from his face as you pull out the chair next to him and sit down, not even when you put a hand on his shoulder. "I can't—Dirk, I can't find him, why can't I find him, this is the only goddamn thing I'm really good at and there's _nothing,_ Dirk, the thing inside me just—just digs in deeper when I try to make it feel for him, even if he's dead I could find a body but— _ow_!" 

"Sorry." You pull your hand away from his shoulder like you've been burnt. Or like you've burnt him, rather than tightening your grip to the point where you may have left bruises. "I'm sorry. Fuck, I'm sorry...just. Don't say he's dead. Please." 

Jake sniffles and spreads his fingers to peek out between them, and you're suddenly painfully aware of how bloodshot his eyes are. "I'd never say that. He _can't_ be dead..." 

"He's not." The logical part of you whispers that you don't know that. You ignore it, and reach across the table to catch the chain of the pendulum, gather it up in your palm and close your hand around the bloodstone weight. "You need to eat, and you need to sleep. No more magic until that happens." 

Somehow, you don't expect Jake to let out another sob at that, and you _really_ don't expect him to lean over and wrap his arms around you, but that's exactly what he does. If he realizes that you've gone completely stiff and still rather than return the embrace, it doesn't bother him. You think you're glad of that; it's better than him assuming that you're rejecting him. 

"I'm sorry," he mumbles, and the very real guilt in those two words is what forces you to remember that you do, in fact, have to hold him. Even if you don't deserve the comfort that comforting him brings you, you still can't withhold what you're capable of giving. 

"It's okay, Jake. It'll be okay."

* * *

_Day 5: ????????_

_From the moment you start having a consciousness, you're bound._ Her _half of you knows that the thing that wraps your arms around your chest and pins them there is a straitjacket; she's seen them in shitty horror movies that—fuck, you can't get names. Not yet. But a guy that wasn't_ him _made fun of that shit, spoke with his hands about how fake it all was._

_From_ his _half of your mind, you know that the stricter pressure is on your wings._ He _has wings, and years ago they bound_ his _wings like this, strapped them down with leather soaked in his blood and in magic that wouldn't let them phase through, wouldn't let them fold down into not-really-there._ His _half of you knows you can't get out of this shit._

Her _half of you knows that too. That you'll never get out, that unless_ her _mom or_ his _brothers swoop in you'll die here, all three of you. Die, or worse. They both know that; you can feel the echoes of despair bouncing around your overcrowded skull until it makes your ears fold down flatter to your head._

_They know escape isn't an option._

_But see, you're not solely the sum of your parts. And even though they're technically your progenitors, you look at the children lying half-conscious in the meowtherfucking_ cages _on either side of the cage you're in, and you get your first taste of rage._

_And once you manage to look away from them, you start calculating how many people you're going to need to kill to get yourself and then out of this._

_These fuckers created you as a weapon. Too bad you ain't somebody's housepet to be trained and used as they find convenient. You have teeth, you have claws, and you have_ magic.

* * *

_Day 6: D._

On the sixth day, you make decaf coffee and crush the activated charcoal pills that you've kept in the house since the first time a demon tried to talk you into killing yourself into each cup. The kids don't notice the difference in taste, if there is one; Dirk somehow manages to hold out the longest, but it still only takes him an hour to succumb to the lack of caffeine and sleep. 

When he does, you lay a blanket over him, make sure that nothing in his workshop looks like it's going to combust in the next hour, and retreat upstairs to your room with a cup of undrugged coffee and your phone. 

You don't really expect Grey to answer. 

He answers on the second ring. " _Please tell me you found him._ " 

Well. You don't tell him that. Don't really give him any answer, because the fucking pleading hope in his voice makes your throat close up, makes it impossible to get anything other than an incomprehensible choked noise out. 

" _...oh, D._ " That's all he says, for the minute or two it takes you to get yourself under control enough to get your voice back.

"Grey." Talking hurts. Existing hurts. 

" _I'm here._ " 

"Grey." 

" _I haven't found anything either. None of my contacts have; I've pulled every string, everything short of bullying my way back into a position in UNION—_ " 

"Nothing. There's fu—fuckin' _nothing,_ I know, we—" There goes your voice again. This time you breathe slow, remind yourself not to clench your free hand into a fist so tight you hurt yourself, and force out two more words. "He's gone." 

" _I know. We'll find him._ " 

"Grey, at some point I gotta accept that we _won't._ " When you force yourself to breathe in without sobbing, Grey leaves the silence unbroken. "The kids—they'll fuckin' work themselves to death lookin' for him if they think there's a shred of fuckin' hope, you know they will, and I can't—you know I can't just—" 

" _I know, D. I know._ " 

"I can't give up on him."

" _No._ " 

"I gotta give up on him. I gotta tell Dirk 'n Hal 'n Dave he's dead. I gotta tell _myself_ he's dead, plan the fuckin' memorial, I g—I gotta—" 

Fuck, you're crying. You're crying so hard you can't breathe, that it's all you can do to clutch the phone to your ear and listen for Grey to say something. 

He waits what seems like a long fucking time to do that. 

" _I'm coming home._ " 

"Babe, you gotta k-keep Jr and Seb safe..." 

" _They'd be as safe at home as they are with Capra and Joy._ " 

"You're not s'posed to tell me where y'all are." 

" _Sweetheart, you don't know where my sister lives; it's fine. It's all right. Galekh can hide them, if he needs to. I'm coming back to you._ " 

"N-no. No." 

" _You're not planning Davesprite's funeral alone. We both know you need me._ " 

"I always need you." You wipe at your face with your sleeve and lean further back on the bed, listening to the way your breath rasps in your throat and trying to think. God, you're so fucking tired. "The kids're asleep." 

" _Good_." 

"I drugged 'em, Grey. Fed 'em decaf coffee with shit in it to absorb the goddamn caffeine, I'm a fucking awful—" 

" _You're not. Have any of you slept since I left?_ " 

"Not really." 

" _Take some of whatever you gave them. Don't hang up. I'll stay with you until you sleep; when you wake up, we can talk about what to do next._ " 

"About whether to give up." There's tears sliding down your face again. Not really a lot you can do about that, either. 

On the other end of the line, Grey sighs. " _Not about whether to do it. About how to tell them that it's time for them to._ "

* * *

_Day 7: Hal._

"Say that again and I'll fucking hit you, D." That comes out like you're entirely serious; you think that you are. Not just about hitting him—right now you want to fucking _stab_ him, make him regret the time he stole from you last night and this morning. If you'd been running searches all that time instead of sleeping, maybe— 

"Hal, we can't keep this shit up." D sighs and runs one hand through his hair, looking down instead of meeting your fucking eyes. The others won't look at you, either; Dirk actually closes his eyes when you turn to him, shaking his head wordlessly, and Jake and John both look down. 

Dave's the only one who doesn't look away, but you're not entirely sure he's wholly awake right now. There's something painfully blank in his eyes, and Karkat's beside him, supporting him with one arm around his shoulders. The demon growls almost too deep for you to register when you look too long; you'll get no support from him. 

No support from any of them. They're ready to give up, ready to let Davesprite be _gone_ , and maybe if you were thinking more clearly you'd understand that but you _can't._ You can't think clearly. You might have started life as an AI but you're human enough to strike out when you're angry and hurt and desperate, and D fucking Strider is the most obvious and logical target. 

John's the one who steps between you and D. If he expected you to not hit him, he's one hundred percent wrong; as far as you're concerned he's complicit in the horrible idea of letting go. You do hit him, two weak fucking punches that still knock him back a step, and then Dirk's behind you, twisting your arm up behind your back until you know he's maybe three inches away from breaking a bone. 

Which you would accept. You'd take that shit with your pain receptors set to exactly the level that they're at now. No, you _will_ take that, because you know Dirk well enough to know that the shock of hurting you like that will make him let you go, give you the chance to at least make an attempt to beat the stupid out of D—

The doorbell rings, that atonal irregular buzz that you picked specifically because it's nearly impossible to ignore, and you and Dirk both freeze. Everyone freezes, actually, other than Dave, who flinches slightly, then pulls away from Karkat and walks towards the door. 

The demon just watches him go. That's somehow horrible to you, that Karkat obviously doesn't know what Dave needs from him. That Dave's shut him out completely enough for this to happen. 

As soon as Dave's out of sight, you jerk against Dirk's hold. "Fucking let me go." 

"Not until you calm down." 

"I won't." 

"I know, and I'm not letting you go—" 

Karkat draws in a sharp breath, and when you look at him you see Dave's eyes. For a second, you wonder what the fuck happened. 

Then he says, "Davesprite," in a voice that has absolutely no air behind it, and you find that you can, in fact, twist out of Dirk's grip. It hurts to do that and you don't feel it, and for a moment things just dissolve into a fucking blur. 

Then you're standing behind Dave at the open door, and you can't _breathe._ There's a tall, lanky kid on the porch, their nonhumaness apparent in both the delicate cat's ears rising out of curly green-tipped orange hair...and the wing folded productively around Davesprite, unconscious at their side and being held up by an arm pulled over the new kid's shoulder. 

He's unconscious, but he's _alive._ You can see the movement of his breathing, the tiny movements that every living being makes even in the deepest sleep. You need to touch him and you can't move. 

"Oh my god," D murmurs behind you. Then he pushes between you and Dave, gives the new kid a quick glance like he's asking for permission and obviously receives it, because they somehow slide away from Davesprite, leaving him unsupported. 

Only for a heartbeat, though. D has him before he's in any danger of falling. 

"I stole a car," the kid says before anyone else can say anything, giving D a bright grin. "She's in the backseat, she's purrobably gonna be like that 'til she wakes up and it's gonna be a while, y'know?" 

D blinks at them in confusion, hugging Davesprite to his chest. "Wha—" 

"He's gonna be asleep for a while too, actually, so don't furreak out, alright?" They keep talking like D didn't say anything, maybe even a little faster. "Don't look in the trunk 'cause I have some gross stuff in there and you're gonna be mad about it, don't worry about anybody coming after us 'cause I killed 'em all, it's all fine now. Hey Hal? C'mere." 

"How do you know my—" 

The fact that you automatically take a step towards them even while questioning how the hell they know who you are is a good thing. It means you're close enough to catch them when their bright green-fading-to-orange eyes roll back and they collapse like someone's simply disconnected their power source. 

Some part of you doesn't expect them to be solid and real. You don't know why. But they're as real as anything else, heavier than Davesprite would be, already limp and deeply unconscious as you scoop them up into your arms. 

They look like Dave, you realize as you study their face. No—they look like _Davesprite,_ at least partially... "Dirk. They said there was—someone else in the car—" 

"I'll get her," John volunteers, slipping past you. It makes sense that he would, because when you look up, you see that Dirk's moved not even a little. You're not sure that he can move, right this second. 

You understand that. You never knew that relief could be quite this crushing.

* * *

_Aftermath: John._

You're the one who gets the job of sitting with Davesprite, the new kid, and the calico cat that's roughly the size of a german shepherd. This is mostly because you're the only one who doesn't end up pretty much nonfunctional at this turn of events; Jake's the only one who's anywhere near as calm as you manage to be, and he won the rock-paper-scissors match that decided who'd make sure that Dirk lays down and rests. 

Not that you have a problem with that. Watching kids is easy when they're asleep, if kind of boring. Plus, it's not like you can't curl up in the chair and take a quick nap, right? 

Right. 

You actually take a series of just barely disconnected naps that probably last four or five hours. (Sleep deprivation kicks your ass every time.) The only reason that you don't keep falling asleep and waking up is that when you jerk awake the last time it's because of something brushing against your leg. 

That "something" is a green-striped orange tail; the catbird kid's awake and crouched on the edge of the bed, wings folded calmly behind them and tail switching back and forth as they watch you.

"Uh...hi there." You could probably come up with something better if they weren't regarding you with so much intensity. "I'm John." 

"Yeah, I know." 

"You do?" 

They nod, one wing stretching out towards the still-sleeping cockatrice. "He thinks of you like, I dunno, a big bro. Or maybe an uncle. Important enough to make it easier to get your name out of his half of my memories, anyway." 

"...so you have Davesprite's memories, huh?" 

"Eh, some of them. And some of Nepeta's too, y'know?" The outstretched wing shifts slightly, green-tipped flight feathers brushing against the cat's fur. "Like, not so much concrete stuff as knowledge of who's safe, how to do things. I think I was supposed to be a test run; the whole inherited knowledge thing'd be better if they made something like me from grown demons." 

Somehow this is giving you less information than you started with. "Something like you? Wait, that's _Nepeta_? Like Kurloz's girlfriend's sister, Nepeta?" 

The kid's eyes widen at that name, and they show a nice array of needlesharp feline teeth as they grin. "Ah, Kurloz! That's been bugging me for two days, dude, I couldn't fuckin' think of it!" 

"Uh...you're welcome?" 

They make a noise that's somewhere between a purr and one of Davesprite's softest caws, folding their wings in around themself and cocking their head to one side. "That came across as me dodging the question, huh?" 

"Kind of." 

"Whoops. Okay, so 'what am I.' Hm." For the first time since you wake up, they look somewhere other than directly at you, eyes unfocusing as they consider. "I'm Davepeta, I guess. Half him, half her. I mean, there's a file number too, but I kind of think I killed just about anyone who knew what that meant." They grimace and shake their head slightly, focusing on you again. "I mean. They kidnapped him and her, they made me to be a _weapon._ Plus they were gonna kill me, which didn't sound like something I should cooperate with. So I killed them. Also I think I made the building explode, but that coulda been someone else. People like that build in self destruct mechanisms." 

Hoo boy. "...how many people did you kill, exactly?" 

Davepeta frowns, counting up on their fingers. "Like, fifteen? Somewhere around there. Do we count ripping the life force out of a guy as killing him?" 

"Yeah, I think we do." 

"Oh, then seventeen. I wouldn't recommend doing that, by the way. Not fun on either end." They wrinkle their nose up, hunching down a bit in the white lab coat that you _know_ Hal took off them before he laid them down with Davesprite and the cat (who's actually Nepeta, apparently. God, you hope that that's reversible.) "Necromancy sucks. Why the hell did they give me necromancy?" 

"I...have no idea." 

"If I tell you more things, will you feed me? Those two won't wake up for like, another day; I kind of took some energy from them when the raccoon I was draining died." The curious look on Davepeta's face falters and gives way to sadness for a second when they say that. "...shit. I gotta go bury him, too...but they'll be fine, we were almost here when that happened and I barely took any, I purromise." 

"I believe you, don't worry." You are, however, slightly disconcerted by how casual Davepeta is about the whole concept of necromancy. That's one of the very few kinds of magic that you haven't met a user of; people whose magic kills things tend to become the target of hunters before long. "Is me asking you to not do any more necromancy a dick move, or...?" 

They giggle, wings trembling slightly behind them. "Nah, it makes sense. No more necromancy unless I really, really have to. Like to keep somebody else safe. That's as fur as I can go, though; I dunno if I can keep from using it if lives are on the line." 

"Fair enough, I guess. C'mon and we'll see what we have for you to eat." You hold out your hand; for a second as Davepeta reaches for you, you see sharp feline claws rather than normal nails or even the birdlike talons Davesprite has when he slips a little further than usual away from human. 

When they take your hand, though, there's no sharpness. And the grin they give you is honest and surprisingly innocent. Then again...they can't possibly be more than a week old. 

Which makes them the youngest adoptee into this household, you think. The newest baby Strider. 

Hmm. Good.

* * *

D's in the kitchen, sitting on the counter and staring at the coffeepot with an expression that says "hangover" more than it says "exhaustion." The coffeepot is empty and unplugged. 

Davepeta makes that purr/coo again, letting go of your hand so they can step over to boost themself up onto the counter, smoothly swinging their legs up under themself so they're kneeling on it and wrapping their arms around D to give him a quick hug. "Headache?" 

"Uh—yeah, kinda." D shakes his head slightly and blinks at the kid cuddling up as close as possible to him, obviously slightly baffled by this turn of events. Maybe it's the purring that prompts him to reach up and pet Davepeta's two-tone hair like they're a cat; the kid definitely likes it, though. "How the hell are you awake already?" 

"Mm—I'm kinda not designed to sleep more than a couple hours at a time, bro." They shrug, tilting their head against his hand a little bit harder, then pulling away, hopping off the counter, and heading over to open the fridge and start digging in it. 

"Designed." D stares after him, then looks over at you. "What?" 

Well, since the person who actually knows what's going on currently can't talk due to the fact that they've stuffed their mouth completely full of grapes, you guess explaining is your job by default. By default is an awful way to make decisions. 

"Davepeta says the people who grabbed Davesprite designed them to be a weapon." 

"A weapon." If anything, that seems to make him more confused. "You're like, fifteen?" 

Davepeta huffs, tries to say something around the mouthful of lunchmeat that they've taken directly out of the container, and looks vaguely surprised when that doesn't work. Another second and they somehow swallow without choking. "Furst of all, would _you_ expect me to be able to rip your throat out with my teeth?" 

"I mean, I'm gonna be lowkey worried about it now, but if you hadn't suggested it? Not really." 

"Exactly." Davepeta offers D another grin with way too many teeth involved. "And I'm two." 

"Two." 

"Yeah, it's Wednesday, right? Two days since they turned me on." They turn their attention back to the fridge, holding up a half-full jar of dill relish. "Can I eat this? Nepeta brain says no, Davesprite brain also says no, but it's in the fridge." 

"You probably shouldn't eat that." 

"Don't be a wet blanket, John. Here, kid, catch—" 

Davepeta does catch the spoon D tosses, but rather than using it they just set it down on the counter, opting instead to unscrew the lid and sniff at the contents. Apparently the scent is satisfying enough for them to tip the jar back and drink the contents like a smoothie. 

You're _definitely_ going to throw up. D's staring at them with what looks like awe. 

They drink (eat?) the whole thing, then grin over at you. "Salty." 

You have no answer for that. D does. 

"Fuck, kid, it sure is. Hey, you wanna try some other stuff!" 

"Hell yeah I do!" 

This is your cue to leave before you find out what D's going to feed them. You don't really want to find out what he's going to combine with chocolate this time.


End file.
